


looking at one thing and thinking of something else

by lost_decade



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Bahrain Grand Prix 2017, Hand Jobs, M/M, Needy Lewis, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10690113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: “What, I’m not allowed to miss my ex-girlfriend now?” Lewis asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed.Toto casts a judgmental eye over the empty Stoli miniatures on the dressing table before turning back to Lewis.“You were almost in tears,” he says, “and now you’re getting drunk the night before a race. A race that we need to win. So there’s a regular guy missing his ex and then there’s you missing your ex, and it’s not the same situation. That’s why I’m here.”





	looking at one thing and thinking of something else

It’s eleven thirty and five shots of vodka in when the rap of knuckles on the door rouses Lewis from his self-pitying scroll through his contacts list. He’d been staring, thumb hovering over the call icon for an indeterminate amount of time. He’s not drunk, just a little soft around the edges, dialling the sting down a notch until it’s bearable enough that he can sleep without noticing the vast emptiness of the king-sized bed, deep blue sheets an imitation of an endless ocean.

In Europe he can fall asleep with his face buried against a pillow of living, breathing fur but out in the Middle East having Roscoe and Coco with him isn’t an option, and it’s not like he’s about to ask to borrow someone else’s dog so that he doesn’t have to be alone (although if he did Mercedes would probably happily accommodate the request).

On the third knock he makes his way from the bed in a slightly ungainly fashion, pulling on a fluffy hotel bathrobe over his underwear. His face is a puzzle as he takes in the sight of Toto leaning against the doorframe, eyebrows knitted together in concern. His first thought is that there’s something urgently wrong with his car, before realising that it’s him there’s something wrong with – or that Toto is worried that might be the case from the look in his eyes.

“Someone showed me this,” the team boss says when they’re both safely inside the hotel room, waving his phone at Lewis.

“What, I’m not allowed to miss my ex-girlfriend now?” Lewis asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Toto casts a judgmental eye over the empty Stoli miniatures on the dressing table before turning back to Lewis.

“You were almost in tears,” he says, “and now you’re getting drunk the night before a race. A race that we need to win. So there’s a regular guy missing his ex and then there’s you missing your ex, and it’s not the same situation. That’s why I’m here.”

“Dude, I’m fine,” Lewis says emphatically, flopping onto his back and shimmying up the bed so his head is propped up on the pillows and his robe falls open a little. He forgets sometimes when he’s talking to Toto that the guy is actually his boss. “Thanks for checking though.”

He closes his eyes for a second and fully expects to hear the door click shut and for Toto to be gone. Instead the bed dips and suddenly there’s a face on the pillow beside his own.

Toto stretches out. There are too many things to think about, Susie and Jack waiting for him at home and a fire at his heels, a mist once pure silver and teal now shifted into red. He doesn’t need the team’s most valuable asset falling apart in front of the eyes of the world. Yet, Toto has some idea of how it is to miss someone, to want so bad that it keeps you awake at night. Maybe that's why he stays.

“I always fuck it up,” Lewis says, holding his arm up in the air and pulling down his sleeve, tracing the fingers of his other hand over the neat, sharp lettering of the tattoo. “No one seems to have it anymore,” he says, “loyalty.”

“Right,” Toto replies when he catches what Lewis means.

“I mean, I never thought it was going to last, but fuck. No one wants to be broken up with by text do they?”

Ah. So that’s what this is about.

Lewis grabs his phone from the bedside table, drawing a pattern with his finger over Sofia Richie’s scantily clad figure, which promptly disappears as the phone unlocks, replaced by an old photo of Lewis and Nicole, him pressing a kiss to her cheek. He opens the message and shows it to Toto, and yeah it’s not the best way to break up with someone, Toto agrees, but when you still have your ex as your phone background is it so surprising that your current squeeze wants to move on?

“I’m sorry,” he says, “bad timing, hey.”

Lewis nods and rolls towards him, face a picture of childlike innocence. Without warning he nestles his face against Toto’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around the taller man and clutching him close. Toto has never really done the comforting his daughter when she has a broken heart thing, his ex-wife is generally tasked with that, mainly by virtue of being there. This is sort of what it must be like though he thinks, yet different somehow. He strokes his fingers soothingly through the tangle of Lewis’ curls, feeling his driver relax against him. They're silent for a moment, lost in their own individual dark thoughts.

“Do you ever hear from Nico,” Lewis asks, muffled against Toto’s shirt.

“Well, I mean yes, sometimes I do of course.” He has no intention of asking the question back but it turns out he doesn't need to.

“I haven't spoken to him since the start of the year. He sent me a text before Melbourne but I didn't reply.” Lewis says, glancing up at Toto, gauging his reaction.

“I'm sure you'll figure things out eventually.”

“We had…” Lewis begins, Toto’s fingers still soothing in his hair. “I mean, don't tell anyone this, man,” slightly nervous, tipsy laugh, “but we had a thing once, when we were young. We used to fool around sometimes, a lot of the time. It was...yeah...I don't really know how it turned bad. Nights like this, before a race, I never felt alone with him there. You won't tell?”

“I won't tell,” Toto assures him, in awe at the level of ignorance Lewis somehow has about this, as if anyone who's ever spent longer than five minutes in a room with both Lewis and Nico together hadn't figured out that there was something more than friendship that had once linked them and that still continued to torment them.

Lewis turns onto his back, looking up at the ceiling that is only spinning a really tiny bit, and reaches to pull the knot of the bathrobe undone. “So hot in this fucking country,” he says, despite the fact they're in a perfectly air conditioned hotel. The soft towelling cotton falls open, exposing taut stomach muscles and strong thighs. Toto looks, like he suspects Lewis wants him to.

“They always leave,” Lewis says, so softly that Toto has to strain to hear him. “Nico, Nicole, all the others too, even though the others didn't mean so much it was still the same. They still went.” He rests his forearm over his eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath.

“It's okay,” Toto says, sliding a hand down Lewis’ chest, fingers trailing softly towards the waistband of his boxers. He's already half hard, the material filling out as Toto runs a hand over him, the touch sure, no hesitation. It’s a while since he’s done anything like this with anyone, and it hadn’t been his intention when he came here, but he’s not averse to the idea either. Lewis lying here, needy in that innocent way of his, like if he was a kid he would be the kind of boy constantly tugging on his father’s sleeve for attention, soaking it all up.

Lewis doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask, but he doesn’t have to. It’s obvious enough from the way he bucks his hips up to the touch, toes curling and a low noise in the back of his throat as Toto strokes him through the material. He’s an egomaniac, vain and difficult, but he’s also a child desperate for affection, an endless whirlwind of energy and alertness that when it stops for long enough leaves him like this, half-drunk and alone; faced with himself. Toto knows that this is what Lewis cannot handle. Everyone who would normally be there to pick up the pieces has walked out on him already.

Lewis shifts, gasping and spreading his legs wider as Toto’s hand slides down further, little murmured _yeah’s_ and one hand fisted in the bedsheets while the other rests on Toto’s thigh. He’s so hard now, the head of his dick peeking out from beneath the waistband, pre-come pearlescent against the darkness of the silky skin. Toto swipes his thumb over it, smearing the wetness around just to hear him moan, his stomach muscles tensing and fluttering, lifting his hips to allow his underwear to be removed.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, as Toto’s hand closes around him. “I – can I kiss you?” he asks, tilting his face up to look into the older man’s eyes.

The answer should be no – too complicated – kissing and getting off are two entirely different things, but Toto hasn’t kissed another man in twenty years and although Lewis isn’t really the man he wants to kiss, he is the closest thing. He nods, leaning forward and letting Lewis slide a hand around the back of his neck, into his hair.

Lewis kisses greedily, his tongue thrusting into Toto’s mouth; desperate frantic kisses, the kind where you need to feel something just to help you remember or forget. He hooks one of his legs around Toto’s, unbalancing them and pulling the Austrian down on top of him, rutting against his thigh as Toto’s hands roam up his sides, beneath the bathrobe and up the muscular dips of his shoulder blades, where he knows the angel wings are spread wide, waiting to fly.

Their mouths break apart, breath ragged against each other’s lips, warm and vodka-sour. Toto snakes his hand back down between them, wrapping his fingers around Lewis’ cock once more, jerking him roughly. Lewis whimpers when the button of Toto’s shirt cuff grazes against his dick. He’s hot and pulsing in Toto’s palm, his body lithe, beautiful as he arches up off the bed in shivery sensation. Toto is more into this than he'd ever thought he would be, perhaps it's something about the way Lewis is surrendering to it so easily, eyes closed and one hand pinching at his nipples before leaning in for another kiss. Who is he thinking of, Toto wonders as he slides his fingers down over the smooth skin of Lewis’ balls, which of his former lovers does he wish was touching him instead.

“Fuck, I'm close,” Lewis mutters moments later, and Toto grips him a little tighter, speeding up his movements. A slight twist of his wrist and Lewis goes tense against him, the hot pulsing spread of his come over Toto’s hand as he continues to stroke him through it.

They lay against each other for a moment before Toto rolls away, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea and frowning at the realisation that he’s got come on his trousers. He’s still hard himself and is drying his hands and thinking absently about going back to his room and finishing himself off when Lewis quietly asks him to stay. His first thought is no but as he stands in the bathroom doorway watching as his driver cleans himself up with a wad of tissue while asking not to be left alone, a strange sense of pity claws at him.

“Did Nico do this with you too,” Lewis asks a while later, when the lights are out and they’re under the covers, Toto’s body curled around his. “Is that what won him his title?” adding, “I’m just kidding,” when Toto goes rigid behind him.

“He never would have done this,” Toto says, his lips against Lewis’ hair, “not with me.”

Immediately Toto feels he’s said more than he should have, but Lewis doesn’t question further and the evening out of his breathing indicates that he’s perhaps fallen asleep. Eyes closed, Toto relaxes, enjoying the feel of having a warm body in his arms, so far from home.

“We used to sleep like this,” Lewis murmurs sleepily, “when we were kids.” He reaches behind himself then, grabbing Toto’s arm and pulling it to rest around his waist, linking their fingers together.       

  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from [here](http://www.carrollfletcher.com/exhibitions/62/overview/).
> 
> Inspired by Lewis missing Nicole recently and by the following images: 
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> 


End file.
